


sweetness in the night

by speccygeekgrrl



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Post-Episode: s02e04 Face My Enemy, Stress Baking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-22 23:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2526386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speccygeekgrrl/pseuds/speccygeekgrrl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone on the Bus is a stress baker. After the plane nearly blows up, the next morning the kitchen is filled with cookies... and only one person aside from the midnight baker knows the truth of how they got there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sweetness in the night

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when I can't sleep all night long. My stupid headcanons become stories.

The morning after the Bus almost blows to pieces, May is the first one up, like she usually is. After she finishes her Tai Chi, she goes into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea. The kitchen counters are absolutely overrun with cookies. There are six different plates full of cookies, from basic chocolate chip and oatmeal raisin to tiny meringues and palm-sized pumpkin cookies rolled in cinnamon sugar. The labels by each plate were typed and printed. They’ve been in the air all night-- someone on board the Bus had to have made them, but she’s at a loss to think of who could have done it. She eats three of the airy meringues with her tea and heads up to the cockpit to make sure they’re still on course.

Coulson is the next one in the kitchen. He didn’t actually get any sleep-- he’s been getting less and less of it-- but there was enough in the back of that painting to keep him thinking all night long, and he looks rougher when he emerges from his office, tie pulled loose around his neck and shadows dark under his eyes. The scent of May’s green tea is still lingering in the air as he scrutinizes the plates of cookies, taking two of the coconut and macadamia nut and one of each of the rest of them and nibbling while he gets a pot of coffee going. There’s more than enough weighing him down, but the cookies are delicious, and that’s some consolation to the absolutely nowhere he’s been getting trying to make sense of the alien writing.

The smell of coffee permeates Skye’s bunk about five minutes after Coulson goes back to his office, and she emerges tousle-haired and nose in the air, appreciative that Coulson used the really good stuff to brew this pot. The cookies are a surprise, and one that makes her suspicious. It looks like a few cookies have been taken from each plate, so they probably aren’t poisoned, and they HAD to have come from someone on board the Bus now… by the time she’s swallowing the last crumbs of the third pumpkin cookie, she only wants to know who’s responsible so she can bless their name. 

A couple of hours later, Lance rolls out of his bunk, yawning expansively and stretching on his way to the kitchen. While he’s heating up his coffee in the microwave, he nibbles his way through a handful of oatmeal raisin cookies, slightly more impressed with this batch than he was with the last mystery cookies that showed up after a tough op. When Fitz stumbles into the kitchen a few minutes later, Lance salutes him with his mug, waving a hand at the array of plates.

“Morning, sunshine! The cookie fairy visited last night.”

“Don’t think he’d let you call him that,” Fitz murmurs, reaching for the plate of peanut butter cookies and hugging it to his chest. Lance arches an eyebrow and grins, but Fitz doesn’t elaborate, and Lance shrugs after a moment.

“ _You_ might get away with it,” he comments on his way out the door. Fitz just rolls his eyes, setting up the kettle to make himself a cup of tea, but once Lance leaves he leans against the counter and closes his eyes to re-imagine what he saw in this kitchen only a few hours earlier.

_Middle of the night, sleep as far away as the stars. The longer he stares at the ceiling, the more he realizes that he’s uncomfortable in a thousand little ways, but the most pressing is that he’s desperately thirsty. Just around the corner from the kitchen, he realizes the light is already on through the door, and he can hear…. singing? Is that…. Frozen? Except in a really deep voice?_

_Fitz pushes the door open just a crack and peers into the kitchen. There are three wire racks of cookies cooling on one side of the kitchen, the timer is counting down on the oven on what he can only assume is a fourth batch, and standing in the middle of the room is Mack, vigorously whisking a bowl of batter and belting out Let It Go in what’s actually not a half bad modulation of the tone from treble to bass. Fitz bites the side of his fist to keep himself from making a sound and watches Mack at his secret, his thirst utterly forgotten while he watches his friend belting out a Disney anthem. He slips away after a minute, tucking this stolen moment in a secure corner of his battered brain, not ever wanting to forget what he’s just witnessed._

“Hey there Turbo,” Mack’s voice shakes Fitz out of his reverie, and he squeaks and clutches the plate of peanut butter cookies closer. “You know those are for sharing, right? You can’t just take them all?”

“Says who?” Fitz says, and Mack tugs at the edge of the plate.

“Let it go, man,” he says, and neither of them is quite sure exactly what the noise Fitz makes as he surrenders it is-- it’s maybe half laugh, 30% choke, and that last 20% sounds more like a whimper than Fitz would ever admit to, or than Mack would ever deliberately point out. The taller man extracts a peanut butter cookie from the plate and grins, not entirely sure what’s made the scientist go such a delightful shade of red, but enjoying it anyways.


End file.
